


You got your reasons, and I got my wants

by nokingbutme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur needs to spend less time with his thoughts, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Facial Shaving, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, John Marston has a praise kink, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Straight Razors, and more time with John, mentions some members of the VDL gang, they are also very stupid, they both have a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-22 18:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokingbutme/pseuds/nokingbutme
Summary: “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Arthur mumbled, finally breaking the silence as John moved to carefully take the injured arm out of the sling before tugging it over the other man’s head.“I know,” John replied, placing the sling next to Arthur on the bed. “I do want to, though.” He didn’t get a reply for that, but when John moved to unbutton the tattered shirt in front of him in order to clean the brunet’s arms and torso, Arthur’s uninjured hand closed itself around John’s wrist. Peeking up into the older man’s face, the look in his eyes spoke volumes.





	1. Give me the burden, give me the blame

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I haven't written anything not uni-related in at least 3 years, so bear with me here. This might also be the most blatantly self-indulgent thing I have ever written, but this game has taken over my life and I have no regrets.

Every time the sun started to set over the camp, or whatever place they currently called home, Arthur felt the strong urge to thank whatever source of luck responsible for him living through another day. And as he watched the red and orange light reflect in the water of the wash bowl in front of him, he could also see a pair of tired green eyes staring back, two specks of colour in a face covered in dirt and blood. Arthur’s hand on the side of the barrel tightened its grip. He could still hear the gunshots from earlier, smell the smoke that seemed to have seeped into his shirt and skin, determined to stay there.

Damned O’Driscolls. Him and Charles were on their way back to camp from a hunting trip when a handful of Colm’s boys surprised them, but they managed to take them out just fine. Charles had been shot in his thigh during the commotion, went right through the flesh. Even though that left him far worse than Arthur, who had gotten away with a few scrapes as well as a dislocated shoulder, the older man felt like he’s been trampled by a horse.

There was a tiredness in his bones, the one no amount of sleep could fix. The constant restlessness of the past couple of weeks, months, years. It just keeps eating away at him, and there really doesn’t seem to be an end in sight any time soon. His hair was slowly getting too long. A few strands already started falling into his eyes, his beard ragged, making him look older than he was. Still younger than he felt.

Arthur sighs, slowly, a breath coming deep from within his chest.

“Whatcha waitin’ for, old man?” He didn’t need to turn around to know it was John, walking over to Arthur’s tent with that familiar swagger of his, that smile on his face he usually has when Arthur managed to get back into camp in one piece. “All that dirt ain’t gonna come off just by scowling at it.”

Too tired to even bother thinking about a retort, Arthur just turned around and leaned heavily against the barrel, his eyes finding John’s. “You heard? Charles almost didn’t make it.” Arthur said, the hand he wasn’t holding to his chest fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt. “Yeah”, John said, his smile fading, brows knitting into a frown, “I talked to Hosea. Ain’t looking too pretty, but he’ll be fine. Has to.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes losing focus for a second. And then, only a whisper, aided by that half a bottle of whiskey Arthur had found after they came back, “I’m tired of having to be scared all the time. Scared of losing one of you.”  
That’s when John realised that there was something wrong that went beyond Arthur’s run-in with O’Driscoll’s boys earlier. “Look, why don’t you go inside and sit down, I’ll grab your things, be with you in a second.” John offered then, already coming up with an idea in his head to help Arthur feel better. At least a little.

The older man cocked his head at that, opening his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. Instead, Arthur pushed himself off the barrel, giving John a slight nod. A silent understanding, their hands brushing against each other as Arthur walked past, the promise of an intimacy only shared during the quiet of the night.

His heavy footsteps echoed in John’s heart as the younger man gathered the shaving supplies in one of his arms, his free hand picking up the wash bowl, before making his way to Arthur’s tent. John knew he had to make sure that his nightly venture into the other man’s tent stayed undetected, lest he exposed whatever it was they had. Soft touches and shy smiles, safely tucked away from the light of day and hidden by gruff remarks, perfecting the art of pretending not to care.

When Arthur and Charles had found their way back into camp earlier that day, the latter barely able to hold himself on his horse any longer, John’s heart had sunk. As much as he tries to convince himself of the fact that he doesn’t care about Arthur in the same way he should be caring about Abigail, the way he used to perhaps, a long time ago, John knows there’s no point in fooling himself.

And so he's been taking what he can get, with rough hands and knitted brows. The unspoken agreement to never bring it up again come morning, when a dark haired figure would make his way through camp, its residents still fast asleep, the cold space on the cot next to Abigail waiting to be filled. She probably knew what the father of her son was getting up to every other night, pretending to be asleep when John laid down next to her, wishing he wouldn’t smell of bad whiskey and Arthur’s cigarettes.

One of the flaps to Arthur’s tent was swaying loosely in the evening breeze when John pulled it to the side, revealing the other man behind it, sitting on his cot, nursing his bad arm. Mrs Grimshaw had been kind enough to provide him with a worn piece of fabric that now served as a sling, looped around Arthur’s neck and preventing him from moving too much. John shuddered as he remembered the scene from earlier, the sound of joints snapping back into place.

Arthur’s head shot up as soon as he noticed John coming in. “There you are.” he said, trying for a lopsided smile. It made him look like he was in pain more than anything else. “Here I am indeed, at your service”, John grinned, taking a little bow.

“What have you got planned for me then, Marston?” Arthur then asked, watching intently as John set down the basin on the small table next to the cot, as well as the clean cloth and shaving utensils, before kneeling between his legs. “Well, I was thinkin’,” John took a deep breath, then looked into Arthur’s eyes, “since you looked real tired staring down that bowl o' water, I thought I could lend you a hand.” The younger man shrugged. The idea sounded much better in his head, though he did have to admit that looking at Arthur now, face and hands covered in grime, strands in his beard glued together by dried blood, he really could use the help.

“Well,” Arthur hesitated, his eyes fixed on a spot over John’s left shoulder, then down on his hand which was still loosely lying in his lap. “I guess you got a point there. Didn’t really have time to rest since Charles and I got back.” His voice was barely audible when he continued, “I just wanted to clean myself up first. Swear I can still feel the O’Driscoll on my skin. Guess all the movin’ has finally taken its toll on me now, I can’t move a muscle without hurtin’.”  
John was concerned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s seen Arthur like this, so open and vulnerable that it made his insides twist painfully, the urge to pull the other man into his arms growing stronger every minute. John wasn’t at all sure if that was something the other man would appreciate though, considering that this already felt so much different than their regular night-time meetings.

John usually followed a wordless invitation, a hand caressing his knee as it passes by, coaxing him into an alternate reality where only Arthur and John existed. No O’Driscolls, no Dutch, no Abigail and Jack. Just the two of them, the moon bearing witness. They were rarely bold enough to talk, too afraid of being heard, small gasps and low moans the only noises shared between them.

“Let’s get you cleaned up then.” John offered with a smile, gently squeezing the other man’s knee before taking the wet cloth into his hand and lathering it with soap. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing exactly, or how to go about it, so John hasn’t even noticed that he was holding his breath until the cloth made contact with Arthur’s skin, softly pressing against his neck. Exhaling through his teeth, John made sure to avoid the other man’s gaze as he got to work, his other hand resting on Arthur’s thigh, holding himself upward.

John tried his best to be extra gentle, carefully padding over the clotted blood to make way for the tender skin underneath. He could feel how tense Arthur was under his fingertips, and yet a short glimpse at the other man’s face revealed his eyes to be closed, reveling in the feeling. Continuing his way along the sharp lines of Arthur’s cheekbones, John allowed himself the luxury of studying the face in front of him. The eyes, usually so full of emotion, closed and looking peaceful, if it wasn’t for the knitted brows above them that John tried to smooth with the cloth. The nose, broken too many times to count, the scar that trails down the bridge of it. The lips, now partly hidden by an unruly beard, chapped and bloodied and still so very kissable.

Arthur hummed when John got to his left eye, wiping softly at the blue underneath. “Feels good.” He mumbled; the other eye cracking open just a little to peek at the man seated between his thighs. And what a sight it was to behold: John’s focus had narrowed down to the task at hand, tongue peeking out between his teeth as he worked his way down the other side of Arthur’s throat. They both had their fair share of scars, and illuminated by the oil lamp the angry lines adorning half of John’s face created a stark contrast to the soft look in his eyes; danger and recklessness and worry in equal measure.

“Listen, about what you were sayin’ earlier, about losing people?” John leaned back on his heels as he dipped the cloth back into the basin, watching as the water turned red and brown. “I just wanna say.. I get it. Every time one of you leaves camp, I’m scared ya’ll won’t come back. Whenever you leave and I ain’t there to save your ass, I..” The younger man trailed off, getting to work on scrubbing at Arthur’s hands instead, now that his face was finally free from dirt.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaking whose ass always needs savin’ here, Johnny boy.” Arthur’s voice was rough, but he cracked a little smile, visibly pleased by his response. The glare he earned for that couldn’t really be described as intimidating though, especially since they were still practically holding hands. Their conversation died as quickly as it had started after that, John feeling like he’s already said way too much than he originally intended to. He knew there was no way that the other man was oblivious to John’s feelings, a piercing ache in his chest that grew harder to ignore with each touch of strong hands on hot skin.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Arthur mumbled, finally breaking the silence as John moved to carefully take the injured arm out of the sling before tugging it over the other man’s head. Arthur flinched, but it already hurt much less than it did when he rode back into camp. “I know,” John replied, placing the sling next to Arthur on the bed. “I do want to, though.” He didn’t get a reply for that, but when John moved to unbutton the tattered shirt in front of him in order to clean the brunet’s arms and torso, Arthur’s uninjured hand closed itself around John’s wrist. Peeking up into the older man’s face, the look in his eyes spoke volumes. The unfamiliarity of the situation, the uncertainty of what was going to happen next, the secrets John might discover that were usually hidden by the shadows of the night.

There was no hiding now, the yellow light of the oil lamp aiding an intimacy that made Arthur shudder and John’s breath hitch as strong fingers hesitantly curled around his own. The air was getting noticeably cooler, too, a welcome change from the humid summer air during the day. John was only feeling warmer though, heat creeping up his neck. “Please, I,” Arthur’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, a nervous habit, “I can’t.” He breathed out, his green eyes apologetic.

“It’s okay.” John whispered, squeezing the hand in his own, wanting to make sure the other man knew that this wasn’t about sex, that he was grateful for every minute he got to spend with Arthur like this. “At least let me help you shave, then. You do look like a hermit.” He offered then, his thumb stroking along the pulse point on Arthur’s wrist.

Arthur looked at him like he wanted to object, alienated by the idea of someone else doing this for him, but it was John, a man he’s known for almost half his life, and Arthur knew he’s been trying his hardest lately to make up for the time he’d been gone. John wasn’t sure if he had overstayed his welcome, but when Arthur pulled away, leaning over to reaching inside his bag, and actually revealed a straight razor, the younger man almost sighed with relief.

Again, John padding down Arthur’s face with the wet cloth to prepare it for the shave, as well as applying the shaving soap turned out to be another quiet moment, at least until John rose from his position between Arthur’s thighs. “Okay, I fear we’re gonna have to do this differently, I can’t reach your face in the right angle like this.” He paused a moment, tapping the handle of the razor against his lips, thinking.

“I’m gonna have to sit down next to you, like this,” He flopped down next to Arthur instead, the cot creaking a little under the weight as John pulled one of his legs underneath him. “There, this could work.” Arthur huffed in response. “Just make sure to be careful with that thing. I ain’t been runnin’ from the noose all this time just for you to cut my throat.”

The razor John used was Arthur’s own, one of his few possessions he cared a lot about, maybe next to his hat and some photographs. There really was no point in owning a lot of personal belongings, with the life they were living and all. The razor was a neat little thing, gleaming in the light of the oil lamp, a few intricate details engraved along the back of it. “Oh, ye of little faith, Arthur. I’m always careful.” John grinned at him, taking the other man’s face into one hand as he let the weight of the blade press against wet skin. “That’s why I’m sayin’ it.” Arthur grinned between strokes.

“Hush now, or I’m really gonna slice your annoying face in two, Morgan.” John rolled his eyes before continuing his work. He made sure to keep slow, even strokes, changing the direction of the blade here and there to match Arthur’s beard growth. Once John reached the neck, he placed his hand on the side of Arthur’s jaw. His fingers feeling the rushed pulse underneath, he took a moment to glance up into the other man’s face.

Arthur’s eyes were glazed over, staring down at John with hooded lids, his lips slightly parted to stay comfortable while John was pulling at his sensitive skin, being extra careful just like he had been with the scars along Arthur’s chin. The sound of the razor scraping away at unruly whiskers and their shaky breaths being the only noises they could hear, it felt like the whole world has quieted down around them, until nothing else existed anymore.

“Alright, I’m done.” John announced then, trading the razor for the wash cloth yet again as he proceeded to wipe off any loose beard hairs or shaving soap residue, while his other hand settled back into that space right underneath Arthur’s jaw, like it always belonged there.  
John was awfully close now, his hot breath warm against Arthur’s irritated skin as he made sure that the other man really was as clean as he could get. “There you go.” He whispered, suddenly very aware of how little space there was between them as he let the wash cloth sink into his lap.

This moment was probably already bound to happen as soon as John stepped into that tent earlier in the evening, all confidence and good intentions. It still knocked the wind out of Arthur’s lungs as warm lips suddenly pressed on his, the hand on his neck tightening its grip, fingertips pressing into the sensitive spot right behind his ear.

Suddenly, the urge to get away was stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. It was all too much, there was no hiding in the small confined space of the tent, illuminated by the flickering light of the lamp. The raw intimacy that built between them overpowering Arthur in a way that made his head spin, cornering him, his reason battling his desires. Everything felt so much different this time. This wasn’t about two men satisfying their needs, quick and rough. John genuinely cared for him, wanted to make sure he was alright. The young fool.

In that moment, Arthur wanted nothing more than to return the kiss, to revel in the other man’s warmth, kiss him until he could no longer feel his aching body. But one of them had to be rational, and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be John Marston.

“John.” Arthur breathed, his hand coming up to rest heavily on the other man’s chest, trying to get some distance between them. The sharp pang of guilt mixed with the arousal that has pooled in his stomach as he looked at John’s face then, all flushed cheeks and confusion. “Listen, ‘m sorry. But you should probably leave.” The fatigue Arthur had felt earlier that night was nothing compared to the heaviness he felt in that moment, his fingers slowly tracing down John’s side before falling into his lap as the other man stumbled to get back on his feet.

“I…,” John closed his mouth, then opened it again, but no more words came out. Instead, he nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground, not once daring to look back into the older man’s face. When he turned around and left the tent, Arthur could’ve sworn the air had grown a lot colder.


	2. Don't take that sinner from me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss ended as harshly as it had started, leaving Arthur no room to react. “You keep talkin’ about being reasonable”, John went on, the mocking tone in his voice doing nothing to make it sound less than a growl, “You keep sayin’ it’s important to do the right thing. But what is it that you want, Arthur Morgan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go for round two! Thanks again for all of your kind comments, it feels so good to be writing again.  
> Also, I added some more tags, so be mindful of those!

When Arthur emerged from his tent the next morning, his sore arm pressed to his chest, he couldn’t keep himself from letting his eyes roam around the camp a bit, secretly hoping to spot a dark-haired man by the fire. Making his way to the large table where Javier and Hosea were having breakfast, Arthur tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as John remained nowhere to be seen.

He wasn’t by the lake, as far as Arthur could tell, nor was he leaned up against his favourite tree, and a quick glance over at the horses revealed that Old Boy wasn’t where he was supposed to be, either.

So John went out, running errands for Dutch maybe. Or perhaps he just had to clear his mind a little, be on his own for a while. After last night. Arthur scrunched his nose at the thought. Whatever it was that the young man might be going through now, the mess he might have caught himself in, it was entirely Arthur’s fault. He’s been overwhelmed, and insecure, and he shouldn’t have treated John the way he did. Hell, the kid did everything he could to help him and his own idiot brain didn’t know better than to push him away. Arthur didn’t even take the time to thank him.

Or perhaps, John decided to leave for good, this time. If his family wasn’t enough to make him stay the first time around, what could convince him otherwise now that Arthur has fucked everything up? The older man had known from the start that it was a dangerous game they were playing, sneaking around camp at night, meeting in Arthur’s camp with a promise of escape from the world around them, their responsibilities. Quick hand jobs and sloppy kisses in pitch black darkness, the thrill of getting caught exhilarating and terrifying them at the same time.

He should’ve seen it coming, but scolding himself over it wouldn’t make it hurt any less. _You’re a goddamn idiot, Arthur Morgan_. He’s always felt restless, somehow. Probably due to the fact they were moving around so much, without calling any place a real home.

That’s how life was for outlaws like them, and Arthur supposed he won’t live to see them doing it any other way. But he was so used to John’s presence, the warmth he radiated, that it served as a tether for Arthur, somehow. He gave the older man something to hold on to, lest he would fall into a void of alcohol and the blackness in his heart that no one else but him could see.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Hosea had already poured a cup of coffee for him when he arrived at the table. Arthur felt even heavier than last night; he didn’t sleep much despite the fatigue in his bones. He accepted the hot liquid thankfully, taking a seat next to Javier as he listened to their conversation without really paying any attention.

“Where’s John? Haven’t seen him around.” Arthur asked after a while, trying to make the question sound as casual as he could despite the expression on his face.

“Oh, he left to do some huntin’ quite early this morning. Didn’t look so happy. Maybe his lady’s giving him a hard time again. The poor bastard.” Javier said, giggling into his bowl of stew.

Abigail. Arthur tried to smile, but it was definitely closer to a flinch. “Yeah, maybe.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted from Arthur’s chest nonetheless, helping him breathe easier now, but it didn’t help to ease the turmoil inside his head.

John was going to come back after all. He could try to make things right again.

Arthur supposed he’s always had a soft spot for John, ever since he first set a foot into camp all those years ago, a foolish young boy with rope burn around his neck. He never quite stopped being foolish, no matter how many years have passed, Arthur supposed.

But it was the look in his eyes the night before that made Arthur realise that these feelings might be reciprocated. Something that goes beyond quickly getting off and leaving again before neither of them really knew what happened. It had been different to be able to look into the younger man’s eyes and _see._ Arthur was curious to see what that look could change into were they involved in activities even more intimate than shaving or washing.

Arthur wasn’t supposed to leave the camp as long as his shoulder wasn’t fully healed, so he decided to tend to his horse for a bit, hoping a bit of work would suffice to take his mind off things for at least a little while.

Pudding, a brown American Paint, was a loyal mare with a soft heart, close enough to good ol’ Boadicea that his heart had stopped hurting when he looked at her. “Hey girl.” Arthur greeted her, running his hands through the soft mane. Pudding nickered, pressing her nose against his chest.

“You hungry?” The gunslinger pulled an apple out of his satchel, and quickly polished it on his shirt before offering it to the horse. “You know, Puddin’,” Arthur sighed as he started brushing along the mare’s torso, “You should think that I’ve seen it all by now, but oh how wrong I’ve been.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

It helped him sometimes, to talk to his horse about some stuff. At least Pudding didn’t talk back. And paying in apples and oatcakes for a little bit of peace of mind didn’t seem to be that bad of a bargain.

“I think I got lost, somewhere.” Arthur whispered, his head leaning against Pudding’s neck, “And now it’s only pullin’ me in deeper.”

\- - -

Later that day, when the sun was already hanging low on the sky, the calm that had set over the camp was suddenly disturbed. “Look, it’s John! And he’s brought food!” Arthur could hear Mary-Beth exclaim from his spot at the fire where he’d spent the majority of the day, cleaning his gun and drawing in his journal, all the while cursing about having only one hand available to do it. But whenever he started to pull his arm out of the sling in an attempt to get a better grip, Mrs Grimshaw would appear out of nowhere and slap him for it.

Arthur almost dropped his pencil when he saw Old Boy emerging from the tree line, a very smug looking John on his back and carrying something big behind him. When he got up to take a closer look, putting his journal back into his satchel, Arthur realised that it was a heavy looking boar, bigger than any he’s found in these parts so far.

It looked like the whole camp had gathered to welcome John back, Pearson already busy with trying to get the boar off the horse, as Dutch pulled the young man against his chest with one arm, giving his usual speech about responsibility and earnin’ yer keep and all that.

Arthur thought about walking over for a brief second, reluctantly talking a few steps to where the gang gathered around John. But then their eyes suddenly met, and despite the distance between them, they were still close enough for Arthur to see the proud smile vanishing from John’s face.

There really was no escaping it.

When John made his way to his tent after, walking right past Arthur who again claimed his spot in front of the campfire, he didn’t even do so much as look at the older man. Arthur was weirdly glad about it though. In a way, he was scared of what he might find in John’s eyes if he did.

\- - -

The sun had already started to set when Arthur found John sitting at the lake, occupying his usual spot propped up against a rock and facing the water. Not at all certain about the way he was supposed to go about this, Arthur still decided to walk up to him. He’s already fucked this up badly enough, and if John decided to never to talk to him again, at least he had nothing left to lose.

“Mind if I sit with you for a minute?” John glanced up at him briefly, then looked back out over the lake, giving a slight nod. Arthur supposed this was as much as he would get and sat down next to John against the rock.

“You did good today. Huntin’ that boar on your own.” Arthur tried to start a conversation, but when he got no reply once again, he figured it was probably best to get straight to it. “Look, ‘m sorry. About last night. I shouldn’t have- I should have..” There really was no excuse for his behaviour. Shutting out the other man when he was at his most vulnerable. “No, it’s fine, I.. probably read more into it than I should have. You were tired, needed some help, and there I was ‘n’ helped. No big deal.” Arthur expected John to be mad, shout at him for it, perhaps. 

But what he got instead sounded tired, sad even. “We can leave the lights off again, next time. If you even still want to.” Just a whisper this time, as John finally looked at him, uncertainty in his eyes, a silent desperate plea. Anything to make things alright again. And that’s when Arthur realised that John blamed himself for what happened.

“No John, I- I mean, yes of course I want to. But not-“ Arthur couldn’t really say that he’s ever had much of a way with words, but right in that moment he struggled more than ever. “John, this wasn’t your fault. You know as well as I do, that.. that this..” He takes a moment to bury his face in one hand, taking a deep breath. “How is this ever gonna work, you think? As in long term? You’re gonna get caught, John. This ain’t gon’ be a secret forever. Not in our world.”

John realised what it was that Arthur was implicating here: John Marston, not always keen on fulfilling his duties, who has a woman and a son to come home to, was an outlaw through and through, but still so much _better_ than the man in front of him. The lost, lonely soul with a light in his heart that couldn’t completely fill out the dark, forbidden glances and unheard-of desires that not even his long-gone father had been able to punch out of him.

The younger man wanted to say something, but Arthur just continued rambling, like he needed to convince himself more than he did John. “Look, it was irresponsible o’ me to use you like that in the past, with Abigail and the kid. They don’t deserve to have to share with me, they deserve all of you. I don't want you to feel like you're being forced into anything because you like pleasin' me damn too well.”

 _Because I might go mad if I have to settle for just a part of you_.

Jealousy has been eating away at Arthur more than he’d like to admit. “Listen, kid. I ain’t no saint, but let me try to do the right thing here.” Arthur knew exactly what he was doing by calling the other man _kid_ , like he did all those years ago, and he hated himself for playing that card, but what was he supposed to _do_.

“You finally done?” John finally said, a dangerous tone to his voice as he was suddenly all up in Arthur’s space, brown eyes piercing into green ones, his brows furrowed. “Because you know, you’re forgettin’ somethin’ here.” John was tired of being confronted with his mistakes, that double life he was leading, because he _knew_ , he’s had so many sleepless nights over it that he had stopped counting.

And he was tired of Arthur making this only about _himself,_ his self-loathing, as if John still was that little kid that almost died and needed protection. Because truth be told, if anyone needed protection it was Arthur, protection from his own destructive tendencies so he could finally tear down that wall he’s been building around himself all his life.

John could tell that Arthur had stopped breathing for a second, eyes wide and lips parted, as if in shock. “I sure ain’t no saint either.” He spat, grabbing the lapel of Arthur’s shirt as he smashed their lips together, all teeth and pent up anger.

The kiss ended as harshly as it had started, leaving Arthur no room to react. “You keep talkin’ about being _reasonable_ ”, John went on, the mocking tone in his voice doing nothing to make it sound less than a growl, “You keep sayin’ it’s important to _do the right thing_. But what is it that _you want_ , Arthur Morgan?”

And then, soft, “Give me one more night, Arthur. Please.” John’s tight grip on Arthur’s shirt lessened until his hands started slipping down his front, fingers sprawled out over his chest. “Don’t matter what I want.” Arthur swallowed thickly, turning his head away from the other man as his fingers wiped deftly over his mouth. “We both know it won’t be just _one more night_.”

John was about to pull his hands away, curling in on himself as the sharp pain of rejection split through him. He didn’t get far though, as Arthur’s hand suddenly wrapped itself around his wrist, oh so similar to last night. This time, it wasn’t about stopping the other man.

Instead, “I ain’t strong enough to stay away.” Arthur rasped, his strong voice almost breaking as he pulled John close again, and his warm lips felt like home. Even when the world would be tumbling down around them, they’ll still have that moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing into each other as the rock shielded them from suspicious glances.

“Then don’t.” John whispered then, moving his head to the crook of Arthur’s neck, trying to be closer to him still, wishing he could crawl underneath the other man’s skin and live there, make the scent his own that was so uniquely _Arthur_. “This isn’t just your choice to make.” The older man knew that John was right.

Everything Arthur had been going through that morning started to feel more and more like a dream, a nightmare full of pain, despair and uncertainty. But they could talk about it now, Arthur was foolish to think he’d be alone in this, that the doubts were just his own. If something went wrong, they both would get hurt. But that was a risk he’d started to accept, because the alternative hurt so much worse than not even trying.

Arthur closed his eyes for a second. “Go.” He breathed then, peeking over the rock into the direction of the campfire, where the majority of the gang seemed to be busy drinking. There was no one else to be seen. “To my tent. I’ll be right behind you.”

\- - -

After Arthur had secured the entrance to his tent, making sure that the flaps were tightly closed, he crossed the distance between them faster than John could form a coherent thought before pulling him into a searing kiss.

 _One more night_ , Arthur repeated to himself as he helped John unbuttoning his shirt, letting his uninjured hand slide over lean muscle and soft hair. He would give the younger man what he asked for, knowing fully well that they would face the same problems again come morning, but Arthur decided not to care. At least for tonight.

“I didn’t even say thank you. For, y’know, last night.” Arthur mumbled as he sat down on his cot, guided by John’s hand on his shoulder, pressing him down so he could take off the older man’s shoes. Thank god John had half a mind earlier to turn on the oil lamp next to them, otherwise they’d again be wrapped up in that familiar darkness that was no longer enough.

"Don't mind it. Got a lot to catch up on now, though." John winked at him, starting to make quick work of his own shoes and pants, tossing both into one corner of the tent before he knelt down on the cot between Arthur’s strong thighs, just like he did the night before, except that this time he was wearing nothing but his drawers.

When John settled his hands on the other man’s thighs, eyes fixed on him, that was almost enough for Arthur to make him lose it. The way he looked at him, as if Arthur could pluck him the stars from the sky, caused him to shudder most deliciously. Arthur would lay his life down for John if he had to, and he knew the other would do the same for him.

Arthur tried to open the top button of his own shirt this time, but it proved to be a lot more complicated with just one hand than he had hoped it would be. John let out a little moan when he realised what Arthur wanted him to do, immediately getting to work on the offending buttons. Arthur tried to touch him wherever he could reach in the meantime, caressing the side of John’s face, the familiar feeling of scars underneath his fingertips.

The look in John’s eyes when he finally got rid of Arthur’s shirt couldn’t be described as anything but pure reverence. Sprawled out on the cot before him, beaten and battered as he was, the younger gunslinger couldn’t keep his fingers to himself anymore. John reached forward, carefully placing his right hand in the middle of Arthur’s chest, feeling his strong heartbeat underneath hard muscle.

“I know I almost lost you yesterday. To the O’Driscolls.” He whispered; brown eyes fixed on green ones. “Yeah, but you didn’t.” Arthur moved his hand to the back of John’s head, pulling him as close as his injured shoulder would let him.

John buried his face in Arthur’s neck, taking deep breaths as he pressed his mouth to a collar bone, tasting salt and dirt and something intrinsically _Arthur_. “I’ll make sure you won’t.” And for a moment, John could believe that he was speaking the truth. That, no matter how fucked up their situation, they would always find a way back to each other. And that had to be enough.

Continuing his path along Arthur’s collarbone, John took his sweet time to map out every inch of the older man’s skin, coaxing breathy little moans from Arthur’s lips as he mouthed at his throat, sucking at the pulse point, blood thrumming underneath. That was definitely going to leave a mark. John revelled in the feeling that he could make the other man come undone with such simple touches, heat pooling low in his stomach as he felt Arthur getting hard against him.

John could feel Arthur’s hand in his hair as he kissed his way down his chest, gently taking one nipple between his teeth and almost choking on a moan as Arthur’s grip tightened, pushing his head closer against himself.

“John.” Arthur breathed, desperate, arching his back as he chased the feeling of John’s tongue on his stomach, licking and sucking his way downwards, following the line of thick hair that disappeared underneath the line of his pants. There was no denying his arousal now as the length of his cock pressed hard against the fabric.

John knew exactly what he was doing when he traced his fingers against the outline, leaving Arthur completely at his mercy as he moved forward, brushing his own hardness against him.

“You little shit.” Arthur whispered then trough gritted teeth, his hand coming up to bite at the soft flesh right under his thumb, trying to shut himself up. “Oh, you want me to stop, old man?” John chuckled. The look in the other man’s eyes in that moment would probably follow John for a long while after that.

When John finally took mercy on him and opened Arthur’s pants the other man was practically putty in his hands. The image wasn’t lost on him, either. The deep red flush on Arthur’s cheeks trailed down over his neck and chest, all the way to his groin, thick cock heavy on his abdomen, curved just so.

Arthur felt like he was finally about to lose his mind when John started to trace nimble fingers along the underside of his length, watching it twitch, all the while having that curious expression on his face, like nothing else existed in that moment, and for the both of them that was probably true.

“Been thinkin’ bout this.” John rasped, his already gravelly voice sounding absolutely wrecked. “How it might be t’, y’know.” He looked up at Arthur, his cock hot in his hand, silently asking for permission. “Let me please you.” Begging to explore with his mouth what he’s only been touching with hands. Arthur was sure had he been any younger he would’ve come right then and there.

He ran his hand over his face, his expression almost bordering on disbelief. That man was going to be the death of him. “Sure, uh- be my guest.”

That was all it needed for John to move, stopping when his mouth was just an inch away from Arthur’s cock, parting his lips, thinking, as if he’s not really decided yet what he wanted to do. He could hear the older man’s sharp inhale as John licked a long stripe upwards the underside, taking his time to lap at the precum at the tip, humming at the taste of it.

“I hope you do know that you’re gonna kill me any second now.” Arthur rasped at the sight of John, lips stretching around the tip of his cock, dark hair falling into his face as his hands gripped the other man’s thighs on either side, steadying him.

Nothing could’ve prepared Arthur for the pure bliss he felt when John started to slide his length into his mouth, breathing erratic as he tried not to choke. “Good boy.” Arthur whispered, burying his teeth in his bottom lip in order to stay quiet as he buried his hand in John’s hair yet again. Not pressing down, just gently supporting his head.

John made a choking noise when the crown of Arthur’s cock hit the back of his throat, holding him there as he listened to the soft praise tumbling from the older man’s lips, “You’re doing so well, John. You’re so good.” John moaned, slowly sliding off Arthur’s length before taking it in again, hollowing his cheeks as his fingers reached down to squeeze at his own erection through the damp fabric of his underpants.

Seeing John desperately paw at the bulge in his pants paired with the hot lips around his length, rhythm growing more and more erratic as little moans kept spilling out of him was almost enough to push Arthur over the edge, “’m gonna- please“ The muscles in Arthur’s thighs trembling as John quickened his pace before drawing back with an obscene sound, “Arthur” John whimpered then, and it was the sound of _that voice_ saying his name that finally made him come.

Arthur’s breathing was still coming in pants as he finally managed to open his eyes again, his head feeling fuzzy from unparalleled bliss. The sight before him almost pushed him over for a second time. John sitting back on his knees, breeches pulled down just so that he could get a hold of his hard cock.

His strokes were fast and without any rhythm, his eyes screwed tightly shut and his lips red and glistening. He looked like straight out of Arthur’s dreams, and he wished he could enjoy the sight before him a bit more, but he decided it would be much better to put the younger man out of his misery.

“Let me do the carin’ now.” Arthur whispered, taking a hold of John’s hand and forcing him to look into his face. His eyes were glazed with lust, pupils blown wide. “Consider this a ‘thank you’ for last night.” The older man smiled then, pulling John forward again so he could reach him despite his still injured shoulder.

“C’mere.” Arthur rasped, capturing John’s lips in a kiss as his hand wrapped around the other man’s throbbing length.

John gasped as he could feel the pad of Arthur’s thumb sliding over his tip, teasing at the foreskin, the heat coiling in his stomach growing almost unbearable. “Arthur” John almost chokes on the name as he felt hot lips replacing strong fingers, his back arching in a way that he was sure his spine would crack. “Please,” whispered begs kept tumbling from his lips and always _Arthur, Arthur_ like a prayer.

When John was sprawled out at Arthur’s side afterwards, both properly worn out and spent, clean from the remnants of their activities, they both knew their little dream would have to come to an end soon. John would have to get up before the sun started to rise again, and with it all of their problems.

But for now, Arthur had his arm wrapped around John, their legs tangled together, and for a moment he thought that things might turn out just fine.

When he fell asleep, he dreamt of soft touches in yellow light, and it was the best night of rest he’s had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact Arthur's horse in this is also my horse in game, and we both love her very much.  
> 


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